


Frostbitten

by holtcest



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Holidays, Incest, Light Angst, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-14 17:24:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16917135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holtcest/pseuds/holtcest
Summary: A collection of drabbles for TheHoltcestNetwork's Winter Week 2018.





	1. Mittens

It wasn’t often that they got snow where they lived.

But it was a welcome surprise, seeing the white, fluffy snow flutter past her window when she woke up this morning. There was a bit of a noticeable chill to the room, and she briefly considered staying in bed until her stomach growled loudly. Distantly, Katie can hear the chatter of her family downstairs, the smell of coffee permeating even up to the second floor of the house. Sluggishly, she rolls out of bed, layers herself in her bathrobe and slippers, and makes her way to the kitchen where her mother is making breakfast. It’s a hell of a lot warmer in here than upstairs, and she grabs the large green elf mug her mother set out for her before filling it up with the steaming coffee.

“Don’t take too much,” Matt chides, bumping her with his hip as he snags the pot, pouring himself a second _(or maybe third-- his eyes are a little wide)_ cup and laughing.

“I could say the same for you.”

“‘Shhh.” Matt presses his finger to her lips, walking past her to sit in the living room. “I’m bigger than you, so I can have more.”

They sit for a while in companionable silence, shoulder-to-shoulder, the soft sound of frying eggs in the kitchen the only other noise. Its strangely serene, just watching the fluttering snow stick to the ground outside. After breakfast _(where they both down another cup of coffee)_ , Katie gets dressed and makes it her mission to drag Matt out to play in the snow. He complains the entire time he’s getting dressed, but Katie’s grinning like a cat who got the cream, bouncing on her heels before sprinting back down the stairs, taking two at a time. She zips into her coat, laces her boots _(triumphantly before Matt can)_ , and bounds out of the house to the sound of her mother reminding her that lunch is at noon.

Something about snow like this makes Katie nostalgic for things she never had, like white winters and cold holiday dinners, but its hard to focus on things like that when she feels the cold, wet _smack_ of a snowball hit the back of her head.

_“Matt!”_

He laughs from somewhere to her left, and she bends to start scooping the cold snow into her bare hands, catching him from the corner of her eye and whipping the snowball at him as hard as she can. It gets him in the face, and by the time she’s done laughing, Matt has that dangerous look about him (reserved for the dead of night, with promises of something different in the air around them), the kind that makes her spine tingle. Before Katie can so much as shriek, they’re in a full blown fight, chasing each other around the yard with armfulls of melty snowballs. The snow gets a little thicker by the time that they exhaust themselves, and Katie flops down into the considerable snowfall, arms outstretched. It’s only now that she realizes the numb bite to her fingers, the sort of rawness that comes when she holds ice cubes too long on the way to plop them into a drink; Matt’s kneeling next to her, that fond look she loves so much tugging his lips into a smile. He takes her hands in his, rubs them between the thick woolen mittens on his own, and tells her to be more careful. Nobody would notice the blush staining her cheeks _(they’ve been sprinting around the yard, breathing too heavy for it to be suspicious)_ , but she ducks her head all the same, pulls him down into the snow pile and laughs.


	2. Mistletoe

Everyone seemed a little more festive during the week. Maybe it was the snowfall, but her parents brought out some of the older decorations to doll up the house, taking a day to string up lights outside, to inflate that silly  _ Frosty the Snowman _ decoration they bought when Katie was six and that was her favorite holiday movie. Garlands were strung up along the walls, the doors; her mother makes them cookies the first night when most things are done.

“We’ll save the tree for tomorrow,” Colleen smiles, handing them cups of milk and a plate of cookies. “I have to go get new string lights for the tree, so I’ll be back in a bit, okay? Don’t stay up too late.”

“M-hm,” Katie nods her head around a mouthful of sugar cookie, and Matt snorts his milk when he looks at her. Katie mock salutes her mother, listening to her light laugh (like bells, she thinks fondly) as she leaves. Matt guides her to the couch where they put on one of those old  _ Hallmark _ movies, lets it be background noise as they talk about the Garrison, about the application she wants to send in next year. He dunks his cookies into her milk  _ (seeing as he chugged his own) _ , and she settles in easily against his side. Having the house to themselves is rare enough, but it just felt too strange to do anything when their mother could come home any time. All the same though, Matt takes their dishes to the kitchen, but takes a bit longer than she’d like, and when she looks up, Matt’s paused in the kitchen doorway, grinning.

“Oh, Katie, it’s just  _ horrible _ !” He bemoans, one hand flung up onto his forehead in mock-dismay while the other rests over his chest. “I find myself  _ stuck  _ under this cursed plant! Won’t some lovely maiden save me with a kiss?”

Katie groans, pulling herself up off the couch and dragging her feet over to him. “God, you’re so  _ lame _ , Matt. If you wanted a kiss, just say so.” 

Matt keeps up the act until she’s standing in front of him, arms crossed as she stares him down-- or  _ up _ , rather  _ (she wonders if she’ll ever be taller than him) _ . Slowly, she reaches up to tug on the collar of his sweater, until he’s at her level, tilting her head to press a soft kiss to his lips; chaster than usual, a quick peck that makes her brother chase her with a breathless kind of laugh. Katie turns her head, giggling, and he blows a raspberry on her cheek before trapping her in with his arms, kissing his way to her lips. They become lost like this, aimlessly nipping at each other’s mouths, tasting each other, only breaking apart when they hear the key in the lock of the front door.

Red-faced, Katie pulls away and rushes back into the living room, wrapping a blanket around herself while Matt asks if their mother needs help with carrying her spoils.


	3. Tradition

Sam comes home with a tree that’s too big for their living room, just like every year before. They laugh as he shaves down the bottom, prunes unstable branches and props it in its stand in the corner next to the fireplace that no longer works. It’s been decorative as long as Katie can remember, but Matt likes to talk about the times when he was little and there was always a fire roaring in it this time of year. But now he sets up the tree with Sam, sleeves rolled up and jeans covered in pine needles. Colleen drags her away from them, up the stairs to the attic where she has Katie crawl up into the tight space, digging out the plastic bins of decorations and garlands, all green and red and marked with the chunky lettering of her father’s handwriting.

They take about ten minutes to fish out all of them, and another five to get all the boxes downstairs, but Matt helps them the rest of the way and laughs when Katie trips on the last step.

“Clumsy as always, huh?”

“Oh, stuff it.”

Their mom is unrolling the new lights, stringing them around the tree with difficulty that’s only relieved when her dad wiggles to the other side to pass it between their hands. Katie doesn’t often lose herself to melancholy, but when she sees the way her mother’s wedding ring glitters when she stretches her arm to accept the string of lights, she finds herself frowning. Idly, she plays with her left ring finger, knowing it’ll never have a ring on it.  _ (She’ll never know what it’s like to walk down the aisle, to see Matt smiling at the arch, to be bound to him forever and ever--) _

The weight of something around her neck makes her blink out of her funk, and when she looks up, Matt’s plopped a wreath over her head and she snorts. Katie is only gentle when taking it off because it’s been in the family for generations; Matt’s digging through the old ornaments they made in school, handing her mother the ones that aren’t falling apart to hang up. Katie takes the die-cut gold ones with her name on it, from Christmases long past where she believed in Santa Claus. Some of them are reindeer, some of them are the jolly man himself, but her favorite is a small star on a cloud, a crescent moon overtaking them from behind. She hangs it next to the ‘baby’s first Christmas’ bulb that her father is fiddling with, watching the dip of the branch as she lets go. Sam ruffles her hair, pats her on the back before going back to hang more of the decorative baubles.

* * *

 

By the time they’re done, the sun is setting  _ (although, that says little for how late it is) _ behind the house, and Colleen is bustling to the kitchen to start dinner. Matt tugs her up the stairs, up into his room and shuts the door behind her when she flops onto his bed face-first. 

Matt rubs her back for just a few moments, listening to her breathe before softly speaking up. 

“You seemed out of it down there. What’s bugging you?”

Katie groans. “ _ Nothing _ , Matt. Don’t worry about it.” He presses firmly on her vertebrae, making her squeak.

“Don’t lie. What is it?”

“Ugh!!” She turns over, swatting his hands away. “I’m just…. I realized that…” He waits for her patiently  _ (ever so kind, ever so perfect, what would she do without him?) _ , pulling his legs up onto the bed. How can she even come to say such a thing as  _ ‘I’m worried you’ll stop loving me,’ _ or  _ ‘Nothing will be the same if we can’t be together, _ ’ without falling apart into the bedsheets? But she pulls herself together when Matt’s foot nudges her, pulling her back to reality  _ (to him, always back to him) _ .

“...we’ll never be able to get married, you know?” Katie starts small, whispering her grief into the air as if it’ll catch flame if she raises her voice. “It’s not for  _ us _ . It’ll never be. We can’t-- we can’t get married, or have kids, or be together like I  _ want  _ and I’m so--” Her breath stutters, and Matt’s cradling her head in his lap, and when did she start to cry? “--I’m so  _ scared _ that you’ll move on, get a girlfriend who can give you more than I can and fall out of love with me!”

“Hey,” Matt mutters when she chokes on her words, pulling her up his body until they’re laying chest-to-chest on the bed. “You spiral when you get overwhelmed, huh?” Katie doesn’t respond, just shoves her face into his collarbones, sniffling thickly with each moment that passes. “Listen, I’m not going to stop loving you. _Especially_ not for a reason as silly as not being able to get married,” The circles he rubs into her shoulders make her lax, her arms resting limply against his sides. “We’ve never been conventional, and we sure as hell don’t have to be in the future. If we can’t get married, then so what? We can still live together, work together. Do everything just like we’ve always done.

“And when I get a place of my own, you can visit until you’re old enough to move in, yeah?” Matt pulls her face out of his throat, kisses her salty lips and Katie laughs weakly. “You’ll always have me to rely on.”

* * *

 

The smell of dinner trickles up the stairs, and it pulls them down from the room with watering mouths and growling stomachs. If they notice how puffy Katie’s eyes are, they don’t mention it; Colleen gets their plates fixed and ruffles their hair when she hands supper over to them. Food is usually a quiet affair at first; nobody talks with their mouths full. It’s not until most of the food is gone that they chat about the holidays, what the big dinner will be like this year, if they should maybe keep it to themselves with the big mission date coming up next year. They clear the table off together, work as a unit to clean up the kitchen and when Sam and Colleen call it a night, Matt takes her aside next to the tree.

It’s lit up, the multicolor lights catching the facets of some ornaments and bouncing off baubles, decorating the room in a glittering show that makes Katie feel warm and tender on the inside. But he digs through the box of ornaments that got left out, pushing aside plastic santas and paper tubes made to look like reindeer until he finds what he’s looking for. Its one of the small, golden die-cut ornaments, one with Matt’s name on it from before she was born. It’s small, shaped like a bell with a tiny, jingling bell attached to it. 

He hands it to her gently, as if its some great honor to hold it.

“I want you to keep it.”

“Why?”

“So, whenever you start thinking that I don’t love you, or that I’ll leave you, you can ring the bell and remember that I do, and that I won’t.”

Maybe it is, then.


	4. Ribbon

Halfway through the month, they’ve all more or less bought this year’s gifts. It takes a while to coordinate wrapping days so that they don’t wind up seeing each other’s presents, but they’ve always managed before and they will now as well. Colleen and Sam have already placed the kid’s presents under the tree  _ (Katie’s under no assumptions about the existence of a jolly red man who climbs down chimneys) _ , all colorful wrapping paper and tinsel bows that glimmer in the fairy lights. But tonight is  _ their _ night, where they usher their parents out the door and sit at the dinner table; tacky giftwrap leaning against the wall in long spools, bags of too-shiny, pre-made ribbons stacked on the counter, and soft holiday music playing off their dad’s old radio from his office.

It’s fun to be together like this, judging each other’s gifts, picking the ugliest paper to wrap it in because they love the chaos of throwing off their parent’s carefully planned out wrapping choices. Nostalgic is the word she’s looking for, but it feels somehow new, somehow...  _ different _ . Katie mis-measures the paper, but covers the gaps with clashing wrapping, laughs the entire time while Matt puts fifteen bows on too small a gift. For a moment she has a flash of him in the future, bored of these silly games, doing something other than entertaining her childish interests-- but then she remembers the bell  _ (kept in her pocket, safe) _ and takes it out under the table to ring it once or twice. Matt can hear it, but he doesn’t say anything, just gives her a doofy smile that makes her snort while they get back to wrapping. 

They spend a good three hours doing this, exchanging jokes and ruining their parent’s holiday aesthetics, sticking each other with tape and discarded paper, with leftover pre-made ribbons that cling to hair and fabric and make an awful noise when they move; in other words, making a right mess. It takes so little time to clean up after putting the gifts under the tree  _ (not counting the ten minutes they spend cleaning themselves of decor) _ that Katie finds herself with a bit more time than she’d thought she’d have at the end of their gift-wrapping-extravaganza; she worries the bell in her pocket while sitting on the couch, metal warm from body heat. Faintly, she can hear Matt as he comes back down the stairs, but she feels far off, like the world is moving fast around her while she stands still.  _ This  _ time when she rings the bell, Matt’s kneeling in front of her, hands on her shoulders with his brows furrowed.

“What’s wrong?”

“Oh.” Katie starts, letting her hand relax. “Just… getting lost again.”

Matt gives her this pitying look, the kind that makes her wish she could disappear, but it vanishes just as quickly as it came. He pulls her up to her feet, guides her up the stairs to his room  _ (a familiar route taken) _ and guides her to the bed, pressing sweet kisses to her head, her jaw, her neck. Katie makes a soft little noise like a songbird; Matt answers with a nip to her throat, with his hands trailing up her sweater until they grip upon her waist, firm and grounding and Katie snaps back into reality where she belongs. 

He’s always had this gentle way of handling her, as if she was some delicate maiden that needs to be treated as glass. Maybe, sometimes, she’s like that; all broken pieces, welded back together into something new, something that could be called beautiful; Katie gets this warm feeling deep in her gut when he whispers praises into her skin. Of course, she values her brains over her appearance, but this is a learned behavior; it’s easier to forget children’s cruelty when making great strides in other parts of life. But like this, with Matt’s lips pressed to her skin-- it feels akin to worship, to prayer. He treats her like she is holy, anoints each shoulder with a kiss, each clothed breast; her sternum, with the fluttering heart beneath that longs for things she knows she can’t have and shouldn't want. 

Matt will give it to her all the same, though.


	5. Blizzard

Getting snowfall where they lived was enough of a blessing, but when the snow picks up heavy, whiting out the city, the day starts to feel fake. Its unusual; the schools close for the duration of the storm, they’ve stockpiled food in case the power goes out, and a strange sort of energy fills the house. Something like excitement, like stress and mania, the kind the fills her veins before a big test she wants to ace or when she’s worried about her father coming home from a mission in space. All the same, though, the snow comes; coats the yard in thick blankets of white, the rocks and trees heavily dusted, streets indiscernible from the rest of the landscape.

The house has a bit of a chill to it, so Sam turns up the heat while they laze around the living room, Katie wondering just how much snow they’re going to get before its over. She’s presses up against the window next to the tree, leaning on the sill with her head resting in her arms, getting drowsy as the snowflakes flutter about. Softly, vaguely, she can hear her parents and Matt talking behind her, something about the generator in the garage, but she’s half-asleep by the end of their talk. Katie must’ve _actually_ fallen asleep though, because when she wakes up next the sky is dark and there’s a blanket draped over her shoulders. With a crack to her bones she rises, shivers, wraps herself tightly in the throw before stumbling her way upstairs and straight to Matt’s room.

He says something to her when she walks in, but she just faceplants into his bed, much to his amusement. Katie rolls to face him, completely swaddled in the blankets, and Matt laughs loud enough that she hears it properly.

“What’s so funny?”

“You look like a sausage,” Matt snickers, pushing away from his computer to roll her around the bed. “Or like a pig in a blanket.”

“Ugh.” Katie rolls her eyes, wiggles an arm out of the blanket to tug her brother down to her. He goes willingly, and she wraps them both up, swinging her leg over his hips to pin him to the mattress. With chilly fingers, he tickles her sides and she yelps, twisting her body away from him. “Why are you so cold?!”

“I’ve been playing Overwatch for the past hour,” he says cheekily, raspberrying her cheek.

Katie makes a face. “ _Gamer hands…_ ”

The night drifts on _(at some point he turns off the lights, leaving just the soft glow of the router in his room to illuminate the space)_ , until Matt gets that dopey, drowsy look about him that makes Katie want to write poetry. She’s never been great with words, but he the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles does something to her; she’d liken it to her favorite thing, but he already is, so it feels redundant. Matt always catches her when she stares like this, but this time she doesn’t mind-- just lets him press soft kisses to her eyes, her cheeks, her lips. He lingers at the corners of her mouth, trails his own down and across her jaw, nipping skin and leaving lazy hickeys along her neck. Pressing his knee forward, he grinds his leg against her core, making her dizzy with the kind of arousal that lingers for days _(the kind that sears her skin with heat and lingers in her mind)_. Katie’s hands have always been rough, and now is no different; she grips his shoulders tightly, stuffs her moans into his mouth, rocks her hips against him until she can feel the way her underwear sticks to her body.

Its _far_ too hot under the blanket now, but neither of them are keen to separate; Matt’s too busy pinching her nipples, kissing her, pulling her atop him to grind his dick against her through their clothes. Almost frantically, she’s reaching down to tug on his sweatpants, to pull his poor cock from his underwear and grind the velvety skin against the tacky cotton of her panties. If she could bottle the noises Matt makes when they get like this, she would do so in a heartbeat; Katie nearly tears her panties off her legs in an effort to get their bare bodies touching faster, hips moving in alternating rhythms. His hands grip her hips _(she wants them to bruise, to remember the feeling in her muscles for days)_ tight, her pussy dripping down onto him the longer they tease each other.

“Matt, please,” Katie whines, watches the light flash dangerously in her brother’s eyes.

“Please what, Katie?"  
  
She wants to knock that grin off his face, wants to kiss it away, bite his lips until they bleed and she can lap it up. “ _Fuck me._ ”


End file.
